


Snowfall

by Galadriel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-17
Updated: 2002-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than just snow falls on Mount Caradhas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> The _FotR_ movie has rekindled my love of Tolkien, as well as making me look at certain characters in entirely new ways. Angst, dammit! Gotta love it.

The chain encircling his neck drags the little one bodily down into the snow. 

Tumbling end over end, cold air pushes out warm breath until it catches and sticks, uncomfortably lodged in the throat. Picked up and brushed off he fumbles, searching for the solid, familiar burden.

The burden, seeing an opening, has gracefully arced through the air and lies, sparkling and precious, at another's feet.

The sharp air cuts through bone, sinew and resolve. Sixteen eyes watch warily, and two hands surreptitiously slide around a worn and familiar hilt, waiting.

Fingers, searching for a simple answer, tug chain and link out of the snow, the golden millstone light as air; dense with power.

A city trembles as that selfsame resolve crumbles around the edges; the White Tree withers with the sapling's stunting. A heart, too long grieving for a death that has yet to happen, finds solace in the words that bubble up from a new and tenuous connection.

The beloved burden whispers of honour and love; a love to fill the hollow breast and push out all doubt. A bond that surmounts the sweet taste of battle, that pours itself into every crevice, drowning dutiful, brotherly, familial and elusive romantic love in swelling patriotism.

Eight minds wonder while one fights against passion, pain, instinct, self-doubt and false promises. Until, soft as powder, deadly and inevitable as an avalanche, a voice slices through the silence: "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing... such a little thing."

Passion, loosed and free, slides inexorably over what would have been a myriad of possibilities.


End file.
